His name was Joseph, Joseph Rah. He was tried and convicted of double homicide. No one thought that he was capable of murder, but the jury found him guilty. There I stood, close to midnight, digging his grave.

I remember, in the dead of the night, hearing something other than the rustle of leaves caused by small animals that made their home in the cemetery. I remember hearing something other than the chirping of the midnight crickets. What I heard were footsteps. Soon I saw nothing but a blinding darkness; a darkness that overcame me swiftly.

When I came to, I was inside one of the wooden coffins you see at a funeral home, and I could hear dirt hitting it from above me. I realized at once that I was being buried alive. Upon this realization, I began to scream and claw at what I thought to be the top of the casket, only hoping that someone above would hear my cries for help. Suddenly, I was unable to hear the impact of the dirt against the coffin any longer, and I felt my prison being hoisted toward the surface.

The blinding light was more than I could bear as I looked out at the congregation standing there watching as I leaned out of the casket. Everyone looked surprised, and I thought I saw my own face looking on.

Before I could collect my thoughts, I was in handcuffs being led away from the precession. As I was being placed into a squad car, I noticed my reflection in the window. That image was none other than the image of Joseph Rah. No one thought he was capable of murder. Then again, no one thought I was capable of murder either.